


Your Cat Is Lit

by PunnyMcGee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Puns, Disney References, Fluff, Humor, Keith is a warlock, Lance is just a tired college student trying to find a vegan cafe, M/M, Magic, Narnia References, Strangers to Friends, This fic is all fluff there is literally no angst, Witchcraft, and stumbles upon Keith's little magic store, bc a person who is male who practices witchcraft is called a warlock not a wizard, keith's cat's name is aslan and there's more to him than meets the eye, okay maybe a tiny bit of angst but only because I literally have no chill, warlock au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-11 16:57:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11718588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunnyMcGee/pseuds/PunnyMcGee
Summary: By happy chance or mysterious accident, Lance finds himself entering the unappealing shop labeled with a rotting sign in the window that reads "Enchanted".What he sees is messily packed bookshelves filled with aging literature, the lights dimmed low, and the air filled with dust particles like fallen snow.What he finds is something far more magical.





	Your Cat Is Lit

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is a oneshot fic for the [Voltron General Big Bang~](http://voltronbang.tumblr.com/) I finished this MONTHS ago, before claims even went live, and I've been so excited to post it ever since! Especially with [my super lovely artist Maraluzy](https://maraluzy.tumblr.com) making the pieces for it. You can find those in their corresponding places throughout the story.

 

Lance had no idea how he’d ended up in some musty side shop where the sign hanging above the door was rotting faster than the building itself, the decorative words that looked like they were once painted a vibrant color now read a dull “Enchanted”.

He’d been minding his own business, trying to find the vegan restaurant his best friend, Hunk, had told him about, tugging the collar of his pea coat around his knit scarf in an attempt to stave off the biting wind that had made itself at home in the chilly late-winter months. His town was decently-sized, though the population was a little more sparse than the area suggested. It sat near the ocean, so the wind was a near constant year-round, but the waters were far from enticing, often filled with floating plastics and rotting sewage. But that was neither here nor there.

When he’d passed the little building covered in chipping, red paint with a worn wooden staircase, his legs seemed to have gained a mind of their own, leading him up to the creaky door and inside. A tiny bell rang when he opened the door, and the sound was sweet compared to the dreary interior of the shop.

He was immediately hit with the mixed scent of incense and burning wax, and he wrinkled his nose instinctively. The lighting was dimmed eerily, making the wide window at the front of the store the main source of lighting, reaching dainty, bright fingers into the dusty room through the cluttered window display. Dust particles filtered softly through the air, decorating the air like the stars in space.

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound pieces of literature with worn labels and yellowing pages, along with an assortment of just about nothing Lance knew. There was a skull surrounded by colorful candles on one of the shelves closest to him, and he grimaced; how tacky. There was a desk towards the back, the raised countertop littered with various accessories and trinkets that Lance couldn’t really make out from where he was standing.

“Hello?” He called out carefully, loud enough that it carried over the subdued indie-folk music that supported the ambiance, soft enough that it was more curious than demanding attention. He was met with the muted sound of a draft filtering through the room, gentle and vague. Sweetly strummed acoustic guitar drifted on the air, staining it with a kind of mourning love that Lance hadn’t really experienced before. It left him with a shiver sliding down his spine and goosebumps washing over his arms under his coat, so he gives his shoulders a quick roll to to dispel the feeling.

He stepped in enough that he could close the door as quietly as he could behind him, which was to say, not very quietly at all. Stupid thing was louder than his abuela when someone dropped a paper on the floor. Lance tried to walk quietly as he took a few uncertain steps into the shop. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, but he thought he saw a small twirl of smoke from behind a jar sitting on the countertop of the desk, and he mused there might be some kind of store clerk there.

He made his way over carefully, trying not to accidentally hit anything in the cluttered walkway; he rotated his messenger bag so it was in front of him to make sure it didn’t accidentally knock anything over.

“Hello,” he called again, quieter this time as he approached the desk, leaning over only to find it empty, a stick of incense partially burned and shrinking further as he watched, the pale smoke filtering into the air like a small stream of water. “Does anyone even work here?” He muttered to himself, standing upright again with one hand on the counter’s edge.

“Of course someone works here,” a voice came from behind him, sultry and smooth. “We wouldn’t be open if no one was around, boy.” Lance turned around, wary but slow, and he gave himself a few points for not flinching at the sudden appearance of the voice. But there was no one behind him. He furrowed his brow, confused, looking around for the source until it came again. “Up here, you silly child. Use your eyes.”

So Lance looked up until he saw was a ginger cat, with sleek fur decorated in dark swirls like flames that fluffed around its neck, and white sock markings. It sat gracefully atop a shelf, tail curled around its feet, the tip heavily saturated with a thick swath of fur like a lion’s tail, twitching sluggishly as it blinked down at him with brilliantly yellow eyes that almost seemed to _shine_ in the dim lighting of the shop.

He raised a brow at the feline before he shook his head, looking around again for the actual source of the voice, “Cat’s don’t talk…”

“Well, obviously this one does.” This time, the cat rose to its feet and gracefully descended to a heavy stack of boxes that was more level with Lance’s line of sight. It startled the brunet when he jumped down, landing right next to his face, and made Lance take an involuntary step back. Naturally, in the pressing space, his back knocked into something loose, and he turned around just in time to see the jar that had been sitting on the countertop tumble over the side and shatter on the floor into a thousand and one shiny, black pieces.

“Ooh, that was bad.” Lance turned back to glare at the cat, and would have sworn the damn thing was _grinning_. “And also fairly expensive, if I remember correctly.”

 _“You’re_ the one who startled me into knocking into it!” Lance retorted defensively.

“I merely jumped down to get better eye contact, nothing more.” It resumed its sitting position, though this time its tail hung over the side of the beaten, cardboard box, swinging lazily. “And I’m curious as to why you’re in here. Don’t get many visitors, you know. Most we do are ignorant teenagers with a daft view of witchcraft.”

Lance was still blinking as he watched the cat’s mouth move, and even form words. Hell, he was appalled at the foreign accent it had, ringing like an English twee. He raised a brow at it, and it almost seemed to roll its eyes.

“Oh, of course, _where_ are my manners?” Then it rose to its feet, hopping almost weightlessly to the counter on the other side of Lance, and the brunet tried not to let his jaw drop when the cat dropped it’s chest into a rather deep bow. “Aslan, at your service, dearest customer.”

Lance stared owlishly at the small cat until it stood again, giving him an expectant look, “Uh…” Lance did a small head bow himself, face still painted with confusion and shock, “Lance. At… your service.” That seemed to please the feline, who then made it his task to stretch out over the already full counter-space, hind legs partially dangling over the edge. Lance let the silence stretch for a moment, before he took a breath, “You know, you’re a lot smaller than I thought you’d be.”

“If you’re referring to the book, I can guarantee I’m far better than the fictional lion you’re thinking of,” Aslan said without opening his eyes, though his tail gave a slightly more irritated swing against the counter.

“Well I’m pretty sure I didn’t wander into a giant wardrobe,” Lance said, crossing his arms and letting his bag fall back to his side, cocking a brow at the small feline. “So why are you talking to me?”

“I think the better question is: why are _you_ talking to _me?”_ This time, the ginger cat opened an eye, even somehow mirroring the brunet’s raised brow without so much as lifting his head. “Most humans turn tail and run when confronted with something opposed to the norm. Yet here you are, talking to a cat as if it were a casual, every-day occurrence.”

“I mean?” Lance scrunched up his nose in thought, eyes glancing to the side, “I dunno man, you cats are scary smart. I’m surprised I haven’t heard one talk sooner.”

“Indeed?” Aslan hummed.

“Yep.” Lance’s eyes watched the trail of smoke pouring from the incense sputter and filter off, until it died completely, “More surprised by the fact you have a british accent than anything.”

He would swear on his life that the other gave a _mrrow_ of laughter, before his tail dipped behind him and brushed over the dead end of the incense, and Lance’s eyes widened marginally when it started smoking again. But before he could comment on it, another voice rang out from behind the door sitting behind another stack of messily torn-open boxes.

“Aslan? Where are you?” The sound of footsteps gradually grew louder, coupled with crinkling paper, before the door struggled to open and another boy slipped out from whatever room was behind it. Hair dark as night draped itself over his head, curling like spilled, Indian ink over his neck. Bangs frothed over his forehead like palm tree leaves, casting sharp shadows over pale skin. There was a small piece on each side that was braided, and looked like it was held together in the back by a hair-tie, creating a tiny ponytail at the back of his head.

He looked rather plain, outfit-wise; dressed in a pair of dark pants and a bright, maroon sweater. His boots were worn, the leather cracking along the most-wrinkled areas, shoelaces dirty and fraying. He was broad-shouldered though, barely an inch shorter than Lance would be if he wasn’t wearing heeled boots. Lance still had the fleeting thought that he was rather pretty, though.

“Come on, we have to go get the rest of the fire sage from-” The boy stopped himself when his eyes landed on Lance, thick eyebrows rising a bit in surprise, and the tan-skinned boy found himself drowning in the swirling darkness of the other’s eyes.

“You have a customer, Keith” Aslan purred, leaning his head back from where he lay until he could look at the other, smiling mischievously. The other gave him a sharp look, a cute pout twisting his lips.

“Uh, yeah, I wasn’t really planning on buying anything,” Lance cut in, and the boy’s - Keith - eyes flashed back to him. He waved a hand lazily in the air as he continued, “I don’t really know why I came in here, actually. Then Aslan - cute name, by the way - started talking to me, and you know, he’s pretty funny but I’m gunna have to give half of the credit to the British accent.”

“Rude,” Aslan huffed, turning back to him with an annoyed look that yowled plasticity, and Lance rolled his eyes at him.

“...You’re not scared of him?” Keith asked slowly, one hand reaching up to readjust the shoulder strap of his small bag that Lance hadn’t initially seen hanging off his other side.

The slightly taller boy gave him a wary look, “Should I be?”

“Yes,” Aslan answered, smiling to reveal two giant canines that were bigger than Lance remembered cats having, sitting snuggly in dark purple gums.

Now it was Keith’s turn to roll his eyes, “No, he’s just a sassy asshole, most of the time.” He gave Lance a narrowed look, “Most people who come in here though are naturally afraid of him, and leave before he even has a chance to speak. So why didn’t you?”

“Have you even seen him?” He gestures to the small feline, who stretches into a yawn before rolling over. “He’s not only adorable and pretty, but he has a _british accent._ Like, what more could you want?”

“He’s got a point, you know,” the ginger cat hummed, tail curling back and forth where it now hangs over the edge of the counter. Keith sighed and finished crossing the distance to where the other two were, reaching over to give the cat’s head a few scratches with his fingerpads after Aslan gave them an approving sniff.

“I guess that’s true,” The boy mused, transition from soft scratches to longer runs of his fingers over the soft fur. “But if you’re not going to buy anything, then you should leave. I’m kind of busy.”

“Uh, dude? Your store is like, dead empty.” Lance twisted his mouth in a quizzical pout, raising on hand to rest on his hip as he shifted his weight into it. “What could you possibly be busy with?”

“Things,” the other answered with a huff.

“Like what, dusting? Because that would _definitely_ keep you busy for a while. This place could probably use some of that.”

“Ugh, just, buy something or leave,” Keith growled, dropping his hand back to his side.

“He should buy the vas he broke,” Aslan said from where he lay, and Lance visibly went rigid when Keith turned to give the ginger cat’s back a wide stare.

His voice was low when he spoke, and it made every nerve in Lance’s body feel singed, “Which vas?”

The feline, naturally replied as if they were having a casual conversation over tea, “The one that you got from Coran, the black one.”

“The Olkari vas?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“The one that Coran said there were only five in existence of?”

“Mhm.”

“The one that he _specifically_ told me _to keep safe?”_

“You know, in all reality, you didn’t really put it in a safe place.” Aslan turned his head back to blink at the dark-haired boy, who bunched his shoulders up defensively.

“Uh, I can just, pay for it, if you want,” Lance cut in, putting his hands up defensively when Keith turned to scowl at him, no longer anywhere near cute. “I-It’s fine, I could probably get enough cash for it.”

“You couldn’t even _dream_ of affording that vas,” he hissed at him before reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes shut. “Crap, alright, ummm…” He released his hold on his face, brow relaxing marginally as he did before he blinked back up at Lance. “You got free time next Tuesday?”

Both of his eyebrows jumped to his hairline in surprise, “Uh, yeah, why?”

“Come back at noon, wear clothes you don’t care about,”  Keith said, and his face dropped back into his scarier scowl that made the hair on the back of Lance’s neck stand on end. “Now get out of my store before you break anything else.”

“Geez, fine,” Lance muttered, collecting his bag in front of him as he started shimmying back towards the door. “Cut a guy some slack, it was an accident.” Keith merely huffed sharply at his back, and watched Lance walk to the door before letting himself out, grumbling all the while. Keith groaned, shoulders drooping as his eyes picked out the black shards scattered over the floor next to where Lance had been standing.

Aslan yawned and readjusted his laying position, “I like him.”

“Of course you do,” Keith drawled, reaching into his pocket and fumbling for his keys. He toed the shard nearest him, shifting it back towards the scene of the crime. “Ugh, I’ll clean this up when we get back. Now come on, we have to go get the fire sage from Shay.”

“Can we grab some catnip while we’re there?” Aslan asked, rolling over until he was on his feet, jumping to Keith’s shoulders as he headed for the door.

“Why are you like this?” The dark-haired boy grumbled to himself, but all he got for an answer was a purr of amusement.

 

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ☆

 

Lance hesitated outside of the old door of the shop, eyes wandering over the rough exterior of the wood grain under faded paint. It was a little warmer today, if only marginally, so he’s switched his usual peacoat for an older hoodie with his high school’s swim team logo brandished on the front. The faded words of “Voltron High Swim Team” in white and blue surrounded the cracked image of the cartoon dolphin, most of the white parts worn to show the black material of the actual hoodie underneath. He also wore a faded pair of jeans, the knees washed out and there was a small tear on one of the upper thighs, the cuff of the pant legs hovering gently over his old converse.

He hadn’t been planning on coming back, but he felt bad about breaking the apparently very important vas and didn’t really want to piss off the shopkeeper any more than he apparently had, lest he risk getting a curse on him from some weird voodoo magic the guy probably knew.

He pulled in the corners of his lips in uncertainty, shifting his bag so it sat more behind him than at his side, before taking a few more steps to the side to peek into the window. It’s dark inside, so he rights himself and cups his hands over his face to peer in, squinting as he leans forward a bit.

A blur of orange jumps into his vision, too close to the glass for him to focus on, and Lance startles backwards, nearly tripping over himself before he catches the railing behind him. Aslan grins at him, standing gracefully on the misbalanced array of display items in the window like a weightless feather. His lion-like tail swooping coyly behind him, the bushy end arcing like a loaded paintbrush over new canvas.

Lance shot him a glare before righting himself with a huff. Aslan nods towards the door and Lance tries not to grimace, but judging by the catty smirk on the ginger feline’s face, he doesn’t think he succeeds. Lance crosses the short distance to the door, opening it by the antique handle as he gently shoulders it open. Aslan is watching him with an amused glint to his bright eyes, before he turned and jumped to a more stable set of cardboard boxes, movements clean and precise like a stream of water.

“That was super unnecessary, you know,” Lance grumbled, knowing the cat could pick it up.

Aslan’s ear twitched and he sat down, curling his tail over his tucked paws, “Well, I had to see if it was really you or not.” If Lance didn’t know any better, he would have sworn the damn cat was raising a brow at him, the little bouquet of whiskers sitting in the circle of pale fur above his eye raising a bit more than the other.

Lance huffed, “Of course it’s me. He told me to come back.” He slid the rest of the way in, closing the door behind him with his hip. “I’m even ten minutes early!”

“Keith didn’t think you’d show up at all, really,” The ginger cat hummed. “He thought you’d be like all the others who just come in once, and then get scared off and never come back.”

Lance blinked at him, narrowing his eyes minutely, “Why would I do that? I came back because I broke something I didn’t pay for. Of course I’m going to come back to either pay for it or something to make it right.”

Aslan purred in approval, before standing again and hopping over a couple more stacks of boxes until he landed on the counter farther in. He motioned for Lance to follow with his tail; a quick flick that resembled the “follow me” gesture. The brunet sighed and shuffled forward, turning to weave his way through the mess of boxes that filled the walkway to where the cat is still standing. As he nears, he sees the mop of black hair atop the store owner’s head, messily tied back this time, sitting in a small desk chair and writing something down in a small, leather-bound journal. He had headphones in, and his hand moved in harsh staccatos and sharp lines, and he idle swept pale fingers through a loose lock of hair to sweep it behind his ear, though it fell forwards shortly thereafter.

The brunet clears his throat once with no response, doing it again a little louder and more punctuated before the other glances up, blinking a little in surprise when he sees that it’s Lance leaning over the raised part of his counter where the vas he’d broken once sat, and Aslan was now crouching.

“Oh you’re here?” Keith mused, raising a brow at the tan-skinned boy. “Didn’t think you’d show up.”

“So I’ve been told.” Lance raised a brow right back, almost in a challenging way, “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Edmund.”

The other wrinkled his nose at him, “My name is Keith.”

Lance rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I know. Edmund is one of the main characters in Narnia, remember?” He nods to Aslan, who merely blinks in agreement. “It was a pun, dude. Because your cat’s name is Aslan.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Keith muttered, looking back down to his journal. Lance can’t read it from where he’s standing, but it looks a mess of lines and frustratedly crossed-out words.

“So…” Lance drawled, waving a free hand idly through the air. “Was there, like, a specific reason that you told me to come back? Or did you just want to see my gorgeous face again?” He gives the other a stunning smile, and Keith merely raises both brows at him this time, paired with an unimpressed look.

Keith flips the journal closed as he stands, waving a palm over it idly before Lance hears a soft, but distinct sound of a padlock clicking shut. He blinks at it, before his eyes follow the other as he circles around the counter, turning and pressing his back against the counter as the slightly shorter male shimmies past him. He makes the same, lazy, “follow me” gesture with his hand that Aslan had done with his tail just a few moments before, so Lance slides into his footsteps to the short distance back to one of the bookshelves.

Keith gestures to it and the cardboard boxes cluttering the floor in front of it on the floor, “See this?”

Lance’s lip curls a bit in disgust, leaning back a bit, “I’m not blind, dude. It looks like a tornado same through here! How could I not see this mess?”

“Good, because I want you to organize it,” Keith said casually, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his dark jeans.

 _“Excuse_ me?” The brunet looks over at the other, wide-eyed. “That would take hours!” 

“Then I guess you better get started. That vas you broke was worth more than everything in this store, so to pay for it, I’m gunna have you reorganize said store.”

 _“All_ of it?” The other whined, making Keith shrug before he slid past Lance again.

“Yep. All of it.” The dark-haired boy gives him a quick once-over for the first time since Lance got there. “And I see you wore something significantly less preppy, so bonus points for you for actually listening to me.” Then he turns and heads back to the counter he’d been behind.

 _“Preppy? ”_ Lance balks at his back, shoulders bunching defensively. He sighed overdramatically, and Keith rolls his eyes at him over his shoulder before he dips back out of view. Lance grumbled unintelligibly under his breath, turning back to the mess in front of him.

Loose papers are strewn over every surface they can get caught on, including the baskets of old-fashioned quills made from feathers Lance doesn’t think even belong to real birds, ink bottles with weird names on them - some of which Lance could never hope to pronounce, along with trays of incense and incense burners, candles, packs of tarot cards that range from cute to downright morbid illustrations, and a variety of other things that Lance isn’t familiar with at all.

He pulls another grimace before donning a look of determination, and pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie, “Welp, might as well get to work...”

 

☆ﾟ. * ･ ｡ﾟ☆

 

“What the heck is this?” Lance muttered to himself, pulling a weirdly shaped tool from an old, wooden chest, the top one out of an assortment in the container. It had a smooth, black handle, a crescent moon etched into the polished surface, the skinnier part wrapped in leather. “A camping knife or something?”

“It’s an Athame,” Aslan answers from where he’s perched atop a stack of dusty scarves Lance had piled on top of a cardboard box. He’s spread out on his side, front half propped up with his paws daintily crossed over each other. Glowing eyes blink once when Lance gives him a raised brow.

“‘Athame’?” The brunet questions, looking curiously at the object.

“They’re a kind of double-edged dagger used for ceremonial purposes.” Lance gently unclasped the lock around the handle, sliding the blade free of its confines about halfway, tilting his hands to try and examine it in the minimal light the outside world could pour into the shop.

“Ceremonial purposes,” Lance echoed, deadpan, his lips scrunching together in a confused pout.

“To help direct the flow of energy,” The ginger cat continued, one ear flicking absently. “They aren’t used for violence.”

“Good to know,” the brunet mused as he put the blade to the side, though he sounded less disgruntled than when he’d first dove into this mess. Now his words were tinged with a little more curiosity with every new and random item he picked out. He reached in with both hands, shimmying a box from the back of the shelf forward until it dipped into his arms, and he could slide it on top of a smaller stack of similar boxes to his left. “Geez, did you guys like move in and never unpack? What’s with all the boxes?”

“Keith is rather lazy when it comes to actually taking care of the store,” Aslan hummed.

“I heard that,” a voice grumbled from the other end of the room, making the cat smile, tail thumping once lightly.

The tan-skinned boy shook his head, twisting around to reach for the spray bottle and roll of paper towels Keith had supplied him with earlier. He gave the shelf a quick spray and hard wipe down, before crumpling the dirty towelette and tossing it successfully into the wastebasket about two yards away, giving out a small hoot of victory. He heard Keith grumble something barely audible, unable to make it out clearly, though Aslan rolled his eyes in response.

“Hey, I am cleaning up your disgustingly messy store for free, so don’t complain!” Lance huffed in Keith’s general direction, since he couldn’t see him from where he sat kneeling on the hardwood floor, surrounded by various piles of boxes with precariously balanced containers filled with loose items on top.

Most of the bookcase had been cleared out, wiped down, and then refilled in a much more orderly fashion. He’d even managed to label everything properly, with Aslan’s help. There were only a few more piles to go through before the entire chunk of the store would be clean, making a decent sized space by the door that no longer felt suffocatingly cluttered. It gave Lance an outlet for his constant restlessness, anyways, and he’d always been kind of a neat and orderly person. Though that was mainly due to how often he had to keep the house clean with his parents busy working and taking care of the younger kids.

“No, you’re cleaning my _reasonably_ messy store because you broke something invaluable to me,” Keith called back, a bit of irritation tinging his voice. Lance rolled his eyes before pulling one of the smaller boxes in front of him and using a small pocket knife to carefully slice open the packing tape that sealed it.

“Whatever,” he grumbled before pulling out the weird assortment of candles etched with strange symbols, stacking them on a lower shelf, twisting them just so the light could catch off the tiny, glittery pieces that were embedded into wax.

There’s a little buzzing in his ear, the white noise growing more static-y as he continues to work, and it makes him a little anxious. He starts humming some nameless tune, starting with a few random notes that he strung together, until it turned into something he probably heard when he was younger but can’t remember the name of the song.

When he’s halfway through de-shelving the next bookcase, he upgrades him soft hums to gentle words, voice sewing warm lyrics into the air. The words carry over the chilled draft that filters through the store, wafting over to Keith where he still sits scribbling into his journal. It started out relaxed, with a good beat, gradually picking up rhythm until it was bouncing along with a happy tune, and Keith found himself smiling as he nodded along to it, even if the words were in a different language.

He chanced a glance at the other, leaning back in his seat to see over the mess of trinkets decorating the counter space. The other had abandoned his hoodie, the basic blue and grey baseball shirt now exposed to the dust storm he was kicking up as he moved boxes and cleared shelves. The light from outside was beginning to turn warmer; clear signs the sun was starting its descent back to the horizon. Its light illuminated the other’s skin and silhouetted his form, turning light tan to a brilliant bronze that hummed with a healthy glow. Eyes that had seemed all but black to Keith now rang clear and blue, sparkling with his smile as his lips curled with each word.

It made something warm flutter in his chest, curling soft fingers around his heart like the drooping rays of the setting sun, cupping the beating organ with gentle hands. Pastel pinks and soft purples bloomed to bright colors under his sternum, blooming like spring flowers and filtering through the spaces between his ribs, and his skin was washed in goosebumps like the dew after a fresh, summer rain.

“Vaiana, has de ser consciente. De que al mando de tu gente, vas a estar!” Lance sang softly, idly swaying from foot to foot as he placed items back onto clean and labelled shelves. “Un día verás, que lo que hay alrededor es lo que te hará encontrar! Felicidad!”

Keith knows he’s heard the song before. Even if the words are foreign to him, the tune is hauntingly familiar, and he pulls in a corner of his lip to chew on idly as he tries to put a familiar name to the beautiful words Lance is singing. It wasn’t until a few moments later when Lance dropped to a softer part, gentle emotion wrapping around his words, did it finally click for Keith.

“Yo siempre bailo en el agua. Las olas yo sé seguir,” the brunet sang softly, doing a vague twirl before he reached up to place a book on one of the topmost shelves. “El agua traviesa es ¡ja! Adoro verla fluir.”

“Is that Moana?” Keith asked without looking up, trying to sound casual, but he softly ground the piece of skin between his teeth as he waited for a response.

Lance paused in his second reach, head turning and leaned back a bit to peek over his shoulder at the other in surprise, “Yeah, it is! How did you know, though?” He narrowed his eyes at the other a bit, “Do you know spanish?”

The dark-haired boy gave a soft snort, more out of relief than anything, raising a hand to give a dismissive wave, “Hardly. I just recognized the melody, is all. The soundtrack is great.”

Lance’s face lit up more than the sun could ever hope to illuminate it, and he dropped back to his heels as he turned to Keith, “Oh my god, _isn’t_ it though? And the animation for the water is soooo _good!”_ He waved his free hand through the air animatedly as he spoke, at least between putting the books curled in his other arm back on shelves. “I mean, that was such a good idea, using the ocean as a character. Especially since it didn’t always cooperate with Moana like some natural force. It was raw and realistic, if not a little salty.” Lance laughed at his own pun, and Keith felt heat claw up his neck and scratch at his ears, swallowing gently. He lets the other ramble on, adding a few of his own comments, but mainly tries to get his quickened heartbeat and irregular breaths back under control.

It’s several more hours later of Lance switching between chattering and singing, before finally falling back to quiet hums - along with several back and forth trips between the desk and the back room - before Keith finally walks past the counter and actually takes a good look at his store.

He’s…. Well, he’s actually left speechless. His store front looks clean,and the walkway is almost three times as wide now that it was cleared of all the boxes that had been stacked along the sides. The empty ones are organized by size and tucked into one another, slid to the far side by the desk that had yet to be cleaned. Almost all the bookshelves had been cleared out, wiped down, and refilled, little white labels with neat handwriting dancing along their surface indicating the contents of the shelves. The wastebasket was overflowing with dirty paper towels, either folded or crumpled where they sat on the mountainous heap that spilled to the floor. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen this much space in his store, even when his older brother had owned it before passing it off to him when he turned eighteen.

He spots Lance by the window display, Aslan perched on his shoulder as they quietly discuss how to set up the altar that rests just below the window’s ledge. He can’t see much of anything of his face, but with the way his shoulders droop and how heavily he’s bracing himself on the bookshelf - not to mention how even at this distance, Keith can pick out the exhaustion in the other’s more hushed voice.

He crosses the short distance to the others, keeping a few feet between them as he turns to lean one side on the doorframe. His arms slide into each other, crossed over his chest as he quietly watches them work. Aslan gives him a glance that turns to a knowing smirk, but Keith ignores him, watching how Lance’s preened brows pinch together and his mouth screws itself to the side. He chuckles a bit to himself when he realizes Lance’s tongue is sticking out a little, a tiny blep as he reconfigures the positioning of some of the Altar’s assorted items with aslan’s direction.

“So how’s it going?” Keith asked, blinking down when the other holds up a finger silently to give him another moment.

“Almost... got it…” Lance murmured, humming with concentration as he fixed another piece softly in place, tentatively curling his fingers away from it before he fistpumped into his knelt form, “Yes! Got it!”

“Good work,” Keith laughed, pushing himself off the door to offer the other a hand. Lance gives him a smile before he takes it, hands clasping together like they were made to fit, and Keith hauled the lanky male back to his feet. “You actually did really well today. I’m impressed.”

That had the other beaming at him, before he ran his fingers through his hair with a confident smirk, “Of course I did well! You’ll find I’m a pretty awesome guy.” He flicked his hand into a finger gun, winking as he said, “In more ways than one.”

Keith rolled his eyes, shaking his head, but the smile on his lips was soft and friendly, “Sure thing, Peter.”

“Oh ho, how the tables have turned!” Lance laughed, offering the other a fistbump. “Good one, dude.” Keith chuckled and returned the fistbump lightly, a soft thump that hardly lasted a second but left tingles on his knuckles.

“You know, I don’t think I ever got your actual name,” Keith said, glancing up at the other’s face before his eyes flitted to the side. “I guess that was kind of rude of me not to ask sooner, huh?”

Lance shrugged, waving a hand dismissively, “Nah, dude, don’t worry about it. You were mad about me breaking the vas and, well, I don’t think I ever properly apologized for that.” His had moved to run through his hair on the back of his head, ducking it slightly as his own eyes focused on a scuff on the floor to his left. He took a breath and straightened up, looking back to find the other looking back at him with an unreadable expression, “So uh, I know you said it’s priceless, but I really do feel bad. I’m sorry.”

The dark-haired male smiled lightly, and it seemed to let the last bits of sun stretching past Lance’s shoulder fill Keith’s eyes, turning dark pools into bright swirls of indigo flecked with violet, and Lance felt his breath catch in his throat.

“Don’t worry about it,” the pale-skinned male said, shaking his head slightly. “I know I was kind of snappy when I told you to clean the shop but really, you did such a good job. I’m really amazed. I’ve never seen it this clean.” He took a breath and let it out slowly, offering his hand in front of him, “My name is Keith Kogane. I know you knew that, but I wanted to formally introduce myself.”

The tan-skinned boy grinned, the corners of his lips stretching towards the crinkles by his eyes, and he slid his hand more gently into the other’s this time, “Lance Ramirez.” Then he points towards the shelves, Aslan hopping off his shoulders to Keith’s swooping around the slightly shorter male’s neck, “But hey, let me show you what I did, so you don’t have to search for anything too long.”

He spends the next fifteen minutes just brushing over all the shelves, helping Keith learn where he’s put all of his merchandise, emphasizing how he was _extra careful_ not to break anything this time. That made Keith chuckle, hand coming up to brush over Aslan’s cheeks, the ginger cat pushing his face into his knuckles with soft purrs. But Keith can see Lance’s eyelids drooping, his shoulders still sagged even after Aslan had relieved his weight from them, so he puts hand on the other’s shoulder to grab his attention from where he’s explaining how he organized the incense.

“Lance, thank you for doing all this,” he said softly, making the other raise his brows a little curiously. “But maybe you should head home. It’s getting late and there’s still plenty to do next time you come in.”

The tan male laughed at that, soft hiccups that bounced his shoulders  lightly under the other’s hand, and more warmth flushed Keith’s cheeks. He only prayed it would just look like the  glow of the setting sun and not a blatantly obvious blush at how sweet the sound of Lance’s laughter was.

“That’s true,” Lance replied, giving him a softer smile. “But I don’t think I’ll have time until next…” He paused in his speech as he reached behind him and pulled his phone out of his back pocket, giving it a few swipes and taps before he continued. “Friday? Yeah, Friday.”

The dark-haired male nods in understanding, “Friday is fine, but I don’t open until two on Fridays. Is that still okay?” He raised a brow with the question, but Lance could hear the underlying note of uncertainty in it.

He reached over and held his fingers up to Aslan, who gave them a few sniffs before bumping his nose against them, giving the other permission to sweep nimble digits through soft, fiery fur, “Sounds like a plan.”

“Awesome,” Keith turns his head a bit to watch Lance’s fingers card through his cat’s fur, can feel the pleased sweep of Aslan’s tail over his shoulder blades. “So do you drive?”

“I got a license, if that’s what you mean, but no, I walked here. Streets are too hard to navigate around here since they’re mostly one-ways.”

“Fair, fair,” Keith says, waiting another few seconds before reaching up and brushing his fingertips along the surprisingly prominent bones of the other’s wrist peeking out of his shirt’s sleeves. “Can I touch you?” He asked, to which Lance nods and lets him take it in his grasp, blue eyes following his movements as he reaches up and lets it hover over Lance’s brow for a moment. The same question rings silently in his eyes, so Lance nods again, eyelids drooping marginally when the other cards his fingers through Lance’s bangs a few times before coming to rest on his cheek. Keith’s had is warm against his skin, cold and still a little tacky from when he was perspiring while cleaning, and he lets his eyes fall further shut as he leans into it a bit.

Keith starts murmuring something, breathy and gentle, a foreign ring that has his eyes closing the rest of the way with a soft sigh. There’s an energy coming from Keith’s hand, the warmth seeping into his cheek and dipping into his jaw, trickling into his neck where it built up and washed over every part of his body, until he felt like he was humming pleasantly with energy. Keith withdrew his hand after a few heartbeats, which had Lance’s eyes fluttering open, but the other merely smoothed out his bangs again before retracting his hand.

“How do you feel?” He asked.

The brunet smiled with a more easily mustered-up enthusiasm, “ _Much_ better.” He felt like his heart might stop at the proud smile Keith let melt over his lips, so he coughed a bit before continuing. “Guess you give a whole new meaning to the term “magic hands” huh?” He jokes.

Keith wrinkled his nose at him, even though he was laughing at it, “Well, it should make it easier for you to get home. Think of it as a little thanks for doing so much today.” He gave Lance another smile, and Lance mirrored him, both seemed to have forgotten that they still had a hand wrapped around each other’s, fingers entwined like loose knitting.

Keith was the first to pull away, almost begrudgingly before he cleared his throat and reached up to sweep his fingers through his own bangs, “So I’ll see you next Friday?”

“Yeah,” Lance replied. “Yeah, next Friday.” He took a step back, then leaned a little past the other to grab his hoodie, and Keith could smell the warm scent of natural salt scrub and fruity shampoo on him. Lance leaned back again, quickly tugging on the hoodie with minimal effort, “Two, right? Or do you want me to come later?”

“Two is fine if you want to finish the shop that day,” the other said.

“Two it is then!” Lance reached down and scooped up his bag, tossing the strap over his shoulder and reaching over to give Aslan a few more scratches under his chin, the feline closing his eyes contentedly. The sound of the door closing behind him was soft, leaving an unsatisfied feeling scratching along Lance’s back as he walked away.

He looked back towards the small shop when he was halfway down the road, a small, internal struggle to go back and stay with Keith. He’d hardly knew the guy, they had gotten off very much on the wrong foot, and yet… he liked him. Not just because he was cute with his little mullet pulled into a ponytail, or because of his stupid reading glasses that occasionally slid down his nose until he pushed them back up with two fingers, or even because of the way his whole face had seemed to light the dim room when Lance had thanked him for giving him a little energy boost.

But the day was getting darker, sky painted with watery gradients behind wispy clouds, and a breeze nipped at his neck. He shivered and tugged up his hoodie’s collar, before turning away again and continuing down the road.


End file.
